


Her Jade Heart

by emeraldroses, HoursOfMazenderan



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - The Great Gatsby Fusion, F/M, Inspired by The Great Gatsby, The Great Gatsby References
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:28:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28522434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldroses/pseuds/emeraldroses, https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoursOfMazenderan/pseuds/HoursOfMazenderan
Summary: A 1920s AU that loosely follows the events of the Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald.Nadir Khan arrives in New York City to forget. Forget pain. Forget horror. Forget death. Raoul DeChagny has an image to maintain. Christine DeChagny is lost. Erik Destler needs something to live for. However, as more time passes, each character finds themselves intertwined in a web of secrets and lies they cannot escape.
Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Meg Giry/Nadir Khan, Raoul de Chagny/Christine Daaé
Comments: 10
Kudos: 15





	1. Narcissus or Dionysus?

Nadir looked above him and saw the giant figure of Lady Liberty towering over the New York City skyline. This was his first trip to America, and he wanted to take everything in. Everything seemed so large, even the green copper woman who welcomed visitors and immigrants. Normally, he would be fascinated by such an object and continue to inspect it further; however, he was late to lunch and would rather not face the consequences of a close, albeit aggressive friend. 

Ah, dear Raoul. Nadir met him in the Navy years back, when both of them served in Iran. Perhaps the man he was had been damaged in the war, or his own brain blocked out memories to preserve his sanity. Nadir clenched his fists. He did not like thinking about his time serving. If he was being honest, Raoul was one of the only men who hadn’t seemed like a hardened killing machine, which may have been what led Nadir to keep up a correspondence with him. The two men couldn’t have been more different: Raoul came from obvious wealth, and Nadir from more humble beginnings. But friendship is forged in the strangest of circumstances, and the result was Nadir, off to see his friend from so long ago.

Continuing his trek to Greenwich, Nadir admired the elegance of New York. Tall buildings decorated in Neo-Gothic and Art Deco styles framed the streets, where men and women of all different backgrounds made up the bustling traffic it was known for. Even the buildings showed variety. Nadir passed theaters, department stores, and deli counters. The stench of gasoline permeated the air and Nadir could feel the heat beating down on his back. Although it was nothing compared to Iran, he still wished to avoid the scorching sun. Absentmindedly, he thought of the letter Raoul had sent inviting him; he’d mentioned that he had a wife now. How Raoul’s head was clear enough for that, Nadir would never know. At night, he could still see men murdering each other without a second thought. He took a deep breath and pushed the thought from his mind.

Crossing one last intersection, Nadir arrived at the DeChagny house. Its 19th-century brick exterior revealed nothing of the intricacies that remained hidden inside. He immediately recognized the stark contrast between Raoul’s lavish American home and his own simple flat. Inside, a large foyer of polished marble delighted his eyes. There were various marble columns which supported a winding staircase adorned with a polished silver banister. The columns themselves were Doric, with intricate carvings of shrubbery wrapped around them. Each column was also highlighted with gold specks, unfortunately clashing with the silver bannister and creating a ghastly combination. Nadir chuckled to himself. Raoul always was one for overdoing it. There was a difference between elegance and gaudiness. No matter. He was an invited guest and would not comment on Raoul’s ...tastes. After being greeted by a most generous butler, Nadir heard the voice of his old friend.

“Is that finally you, Nadir? You’ve practically kept us in wait for hours.”

“You always did have a flair for the dramatic,” Nadir replied, checking the ornate grandfather clock in the hall. He was only late by a few minutes.

He found Raoul in the dining room at the end of the hall. A woman was there, too, seated at the table. This room was, if possible, designed to flaunt the DeChagnys’ wealth even more. The room had a redwood table, piled high with New York’s freshest and finest delicacies. The aroma was almost overwhelming. Each chair had been handcrafted, and plush velvet lined each seat. However, there was one detail which stood out the most. The room was surrounded entirely by mirrors. Each one, of course, polished to the utmost perfection. The mirrors were trimmed with gold and surrounded by Greek statues.

“Ah, Dionysus, my friend?” exclaimed Nadir. “He is, perhaps, one of the most jovial of gods. He also inspired beautiful music, you know.” 

“Yes, yes, it was Christine’s idea. Something about wanting a reminder of her father. Apparently she used to be spellbound by his tales of distant lands.”

“Aren’t you more suited for Narcissus? With all these mirrors, what are you admiring exactly?”

Raoul shot him a look, but the woman at the table laughed. “Why, himself, of course! The most beautiful thing on earth, according to him.” 

Nadir assumed this must be Raoul’s wife, Christine, and he wondered vaguely if Raoul had chosen her because her beauty so complimented his elegant lifestyle. Christine had an air of gracefulness Nadir had never seen before. The soft dulcet tones of her voice contrasted Raoul’s rough voice almost obscenely. Christine was of average height and build, but had long, flowing chestnut locks that tumbled down her back. Her face was slender but healthy, with full lips and minimal makeup. Growing up in a family of women, Nadir knew of the various ways ladies would fawn over their complexions, using every product they could get their hands on to beautify themselves. Christine needed none of it. Her long eyelashes complimented her warm brown eyes well, and her smile was nothing like he had never seen before. Nadir could see why Raoul chose this woman to be his wife. She was, in simple words, beautiful. Beautiful in an impossible way. She possessed an ethereal quality he had only seen once before.

Nadir forced himself to see reason. She was not him. She had not met him, nor would she ever. Nadir had left that man in the past, not that he had ever really known him. He was simply a distant memory. A memory that he was unfortunately unable to forget.

“Nadir!” Raoul was saying something. 

“I’m sorry.” Nadir hoped he hadn’t offended Raoul or his wife. After all, he was their guest. But Christine’s jingling laughter filled the room, and Nadir relaxed considerably.

“I asked where you were staying, old friend, “ stated Raoul casually.

“Oh, just a simple flat that belonged to an old cousin of mine. It’s The Ansonia, if you’ve heard of it?”

Raoul laughed, “Ah, dear Nadir, the entire city has heard of it! There was quite the scandal involving the World's Series a few years ago. A few gentlemen had meetings there, and hatched a plot to fix the game.” 

“It was quite the uproar,” added Christine.

Nadir took a sip of the wine which had been offered to him. “Well, I suppose there are positives in serving. At least overseas I am not privy to countless scandals which simply increase the melodrama of this city.”

Raoul grinned. “Ah, but what is life without drama?” 

Nadir rolled his eyes. “Indeed.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Nadir thought he saw Christine become irritated by Raoul’s words. It seemed the young woman also shared his sentiments surrounding drama, unless there was more to her relationship with Raoul than he previously determined.

“So, Christine, how did you and Raoul come to meet?” questioned Nadir. He was genuinely curious. Aside from being the resident “rich boy” during their time overseas, Raoul had quite a reputation for his uncanny ability to “charm” women. But Christine didn’t seem like the type who usually fell for Raoul’s act, at least not to Nadir.

“I heard her singing at a café down the street,” replied Raoul. “She has an amazing voice. I’ve been to the opera and to Broadway shows several times and seen many women-“ here Christine simply raised an eyebrow, and Raoul fell silent before continuing, a bit subdued this time, “and I’ve never seen a girl who can sing like she can. She’s like an angel.”

“And you told me so!” Christine said, laughing again. Nadir smiled, and so did Raoul. Whenever Christine laughed, everyone in the room felt lighter. “He walked right up to me and showered me in compliments. He tried all his little tricks. But I’d heard about you. I’ve got friends in the chorus in all sorts of shows, you know. I was not about to go out with that Raoul DeChagny.” She sighed. “But after a while he finally figured it out, and instead of leaving me alone like a normal man should, he invited me to the opera.”

“I knew you would come around eventually,” said Raoul lightly, fixing his hair. 

Nadir was again reminded of Narcissus as his friend spent the next minute examining every detail of his appearance in the mirror while Christine recounted their visit to the opera and subsequent dinners. “I simply wore down,” she said. “I got tired of saying no, and I married him!” Nadir and Raoul both chuckled at this, and Nadir decided that if the DeChagnys invited him to come again, he would accept. Even if Raoul’s decoration choices were questionable. 

All of a sudden, a shrill sound interrupted the group from their reverie. A telephone. A loud one at that, noted Nadir.

“Excuse me a moment,” said Raoul as he got up from the table. “I need to take this call.”

At Raoul’s sudden absence, Nadir noticed something flash across Christine’s face; however, as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. There was a definite change in her demeanor now, as if a previous spark in her eyes had been stamped out. 

Sensing the disarray, Nadir quietly made up his mind to leave the couple to their affairs. He politely refused Christine’s offer of more wine, and stood up to grab his coat. It was late and he had to go to his flat. He wasn’t even sure where it was located, exactly. Perhaps he should have paid more attention to his surroundings and less to the various bottles of vintage wine the DeChagnys owned.

Raoul was still in the other room, speaking in whispers, so Christine offered to walk Nadir to the door. He noticed her glancing every so often in Raoul’s direction with an expression he couldn’t quite place.

“Thank you for coming, Nadir. We really enjoyed your company this evening,” Christine said, smiling.

“Ah, thank you for having me over. It was lovely to meet you, Christine.” Nadir faltered for a moment, but regained his confidence. “If you ever need anything, feel free to call me,” he said slightly softer.

Christine’s face visibly paled as she replied, “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.”

Nadir nodded, thanked her again, and departed for his flat at the Ansonia. He stepped outside and felt the cool night air wash over his features. As he wandered the streets making his way back home, he looked back on the DeChagny property. He noticed that the house light was green. How odd, he mused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever since I read The Great Gatsby, all I could do was place POTO characters in the shoes of Fitzgerald's characters. My best friend and I have had this idea for a while, so we hope you enjoy!
> 
> No Erik yet, but he will show up soon; there will be plenty of Nadir and Erik upcoming. Also Meg!! I am very excited to see where this story goes. If you know the plot of the original novel, it will be faithful in some aspects and references (kudos if you caught some of this chapter's), however it will diverge later on.
> 
> ALSO fun fact: the Ansonia was a real place! It was a hotel that included a rooftop farm! How unique. In 1919 it was the venue for many meetings of the players involved in the Black Sox scandal.
> 
> Don't be afraid to review! :)
> 
> -HoursOfMazenderan


	2. Eden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik Destler has had a difficult childhood full of neglect. He is wallowing in misery until he hears a silvery voice that changes his outlook on things.

1908- South Dakota 

Cold. It seemed as though that was all Erik ever felt anymore. No life, no joy, no feeling. Nothing. Until _her._ It was a freezing winter’s night when everything went terribly wrong, and yet, there was a ray of hope in her, and everything she represented. Christine.

As he stared down at his worn out shoes, Erik knew he would get in trouble. His mother forbade him from leaving the house, lest anyone catch a glimpse of the once-beautiful Madeleine’s horrible son. It was a sinking feeling deep in his stomach. However, he found that he didn’t care; music was his one hope, his only source of strength. It would protect him. The snow crunched under his feet as he made his way over to the small church on the corner. Dalesburg wasn’t a very large town, so it did not take him very long. The dusty roads were littered with old churches and general stores that Erik wasn’t allowed to see very often. Fortunately for him, his photographic memory afforded him a perfect sense of direction.

The church was perhaps the only structure of any beauty or value in Dalesburg. It stood proud, complementing the vast plains that surrounded it. The church was constructed of a red brick facade that was highlighted with regal looking white pillars. At the top of the building was a single bell that rang to indicate the hour. In his free time, Erik had read various books on architecture, and concluded the church must have been built during the Antebellum period. The most beautiful part of the church, however, were the windows.The windows were made of a beautiful stained glass; blues, greens, and yellows, all swirling together to create masterpieces of religious imagery.

If Erik were being honest with himself, he did not believe in God. God could not have created such a monstrous visage. Monster. Hellspawn. Devil’s Child. Erik had heard it all. Though she tried to act indifferent, Erik knew his mother did not love him. She was concerned about her own image, and therefore his, but she did not love him. Erik had given up long ago on winning her affection anyways. He remembered once on his birthday he asked for two kisses. One now, and one for later. Instead, he received a scream and an array of hurtful words that would only give him a taste of the abuse to come. “If God truly existed,” Erik murmured, “he would’ve ended my life before I could take a breath”.

These nights were Erik’s favorites. Other than watching the violinist, who was called Gustave Daaé, he loved to listen to the choir sing, especially in the winter. Tonight they had dressed up as well, and the girls in the children’s choir, who were about the same age as Erik himself, looked angelic.

He had seen the children rehearse enough times to know that he hadn’t missed his favorite part. Erik hid in the back of the church- don’t ever let anyone see your face!- and watched as the little brunette girl in the first row with the perfect curls stepped forward. She could not have been more than ten, and yet Erik thought her voice must be the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. Perhaps this was why he was so drawn to music. In his short thirteen years (he assumed- his mother hadn’t ever given him a birthday party) he had seen little beauty.

For a moment, Erik made up his mind to tell the little girl how much he enjoyed her singing. The next second, his mother’s screams filled his head. “No one should have to see your face,” he reminded himself. Erik adjusted the mask he always wore before he even realized he was doing it. It was the one gift he had ever received from his mother, and he wondered if in some way, this was his mother’s way of saying that she cared. 

The organist took the stage. Erik knew that this was the closing act of the little show, but he still had a few minutes. If he timed it right, he could listen to most of it and be out before everyone else. Nobody would know that Erik had been snooping around the church again. Besides, he did love the organ. When he was younger, he used to play it in the church when no one was around. But his mother found him out eventually, and didn’t let him out of her sight for months afterwards. Even now he didn’t dare risk it.

Erik watched as the brunette girl from the previous song shyly stepped forward. She wrung her hands nervously, and Erik wished he could comfort her, but that would involve stepping out of the shadows, which his mother would not appreciate. 

The organist began to play a rendition of _Silent Night_ , and the girl’s entire demeanor changed. She stood up tall, with crinkles of excitement creasing her eyes. Her voice was even more exquisite without the choir.

_Silent night, Holy night,  
All is calm, all is bright,  
Round yon virgin mother and child,  
Holy infant, so tender and mild,  
Sleep in heavenly peace,  
Sleep in heavenly peace._

Erik closed his eyes. Heaven on earth. His eyes began to water. This is what love sounded like. He felt a warmth blooming in his chest. Shortly after, Erik heard the sound of a violin joining with her voice. If possible, the song became even more beautiful. 

_Silent night, Holy night,  
Shepherds quake at the sight,  
Glories stream from heaven afar,  
Heavenly hosts sing Alleluia,  
Christ the savior is born,  
Christ the savior is born._

_Silent night, Holy night,  
Son of God, love's pure light,  
Radiant beams from thy holy face,  
With the dawn of redeeming grace,  
Jesus, Lord, at thy birth,  
Jesus, Lord, at thy birth!_

Erik watched as the girl left the altar as timidly as she stepped forward. He desperately needed more. In those few moments, Erik felt more happiness than he had ever felt in his entire existence. He knew he’d pay for this moment of happiness, but he didn’t care. Who was that girl? She was like a living angel; she sang even more beautifully than people said his mother used to… 

His _mother._

Erik silently gave thanks to whatever God (or rather, architect) that made sure that the church had windows that one could see through, and checked the time on the clock-tower across the square. 10:00! The bell began to toll. Erik’s stomach dropped. His mother would be home from her outing in a few minutes. 

The parishioners were paying rapt attention to the closing prayer. Erik doubted they would notice a shadow slinking away from the crowd. Quickly, he turned and slipped into the night.

Erik felt his heart pounding. One after the other, his worn boots hit the snow. The rush of blood to his head made it feel as though everything was in slow motion. He willed his legs to move faster. His vision blurred at the edges as he sprinted towards the small wooden structure that he called home. Home. The word was unfamiliar to him. The four wooden walls of his bedroom felt suffocating. It was a confinement, not a home.

Erik stumbled over his long legs as his front door came into view. The lights were on. His mother was home. He quietly opened the door, hoping to dash up the stairs and into his room. Before Erik could take another step, his mother came into view. Her face was distorted in anger. 

Everyone said Madeleine had been beautiful; every man courted her once she was of age. She had dreamed of the stage and a luxurious life with a rich husband. All of her dreams, however, had unraveled when her son was born. Erik didn’t know what had caused his deformities, but he knew that his mother resented him. Madeleine Destler sat in her small house in the middle of nowhere, policing her only child and reminiscing about what could have been.

Sometimes you could see traces of her beauty in her face. Now was not one of those times. “Erik.”

“Yes, mother?” Erik responded. He began to tremble.

“I thought I made it clear you were never to leave this house under any circumstances.” Erik took a step back. “You disobeyed me. There will be consequences.”

Erik shook. He knew his mother had been seeing the town doctor, and there were numerous times he had overheard them mention giving him away. As much as Erik hated his mother, he knew what to expect with her. Madeleine was always avoiding his presence, never initiating contact. She would never hit him; she couldn’t even bear to touch him. If Erik were given to strangers, he could be physically abused, kidnapped, or forced into labor. No one would ever treat one such as him with anything akin to respect.

“I only wanted to see the ch-choir sing,” Erik whispered.

“It doesn’t matter what you wanted,” his mother scoffed. “Monsters do well to stay hidden. Now get out of my sight. We’ll discuss this tomorrow.” 

Erik began to trudge upstairs.

“Not there. Out.” Madeleine pointed towards the door.

“But-”

“But nothing. I said get out. And stay hidden!” she hissed.

Tears flooded Erik’s vision. He stumbled towards the door and flung it open. The cold December air stung his wet face.

“Silent night,  
Holy night,  
All is calm,  
All is bright…”

Erik sang softly to himself. Music was the only thing that would never leave him. He thought of the girl at the church. She was so innocent, so full of life. He let his thoughts wander and conjure up images of her embrace. Of her voice speaking softly to him. No. No, that would never happen. She was good, and he was vile. He could not pollute her. 

Erik looked up as he broke away from his thoughts, and found himself back at the church. He quickly hurried away from the public space, and began to panic. No one could see him. Erik kept his head down, and turned towards the other side of town. Unfortunately, he realized before it was too late that he had collided straight into the back of a stranger. Erik shut his eyes and braced himself for the screams.

“Oh, excuse me!” Erik opened his eyes and peered through the darkness. He saw the warm smile of a man greeting him. A _smile._ This was not just any man. It was Gustave Daaé, the violinist! And he was supposed to stay out of sight. Now Erik really was in trouble.

“Are you all right?” Gustave asked, studying Erik. 

“Y-yes, sir,” stammered Erik. The other man continued to look at him. Erik flinched when he realized that the moonlight above was providing enough light for his mask to be seen.

“What’s your name? I don’t think I know you.”

“...Erik, sir.” Now he’d done it. His name, the mask. This man would know that the rumors were true.

But Gustave showed no sign of recognition. “Well, Erik, do you have a place to stay? Why are you out so late?” he asked. And suddenly, Erik realized why. He had been a small child already when the Swedish musician and his young daughter had moved into the village. Gustave had never heard of Madeleine Destler or her tragic son. 

Erik was dumbfounded. This was the longest conversation he ever had with someone who was not his mother. Why did this man care so much about his well-being? Should he answer his question truthfully?

“No,” Erik said, finally.

The man blinked a few times, and offered, “Well, Erik would you like to come with me? I live very close by and have a guest bedroom.”

“No- of course not- I could never-” blurted Erik.

“Nonsense, it’s Christmas!” Gustave exclaimed. 

“Christmas?” Erik questioned. The word felt foreign on his tongue. In all the books his mother provided for him, he never encountered such a word.

Gustave paused. “The offer is still on the table, my boy.”

All of Erik’s instincts told him to run. He felt the urge to find a hole to spend the night in, and then return to his mother to beg forgiveness. But he did not. Erik did not know whether it was the comforting tone of Gustave’s voice, or the fact that he did not recoil at his mask, but he felt the word tumble out of his mouth before he could stop it.

“Okay.”

To his disbelief, Erik soon found himself at Gustave Daaé’s house with a blanket around his shivering form and a steaming cup of tea in his hand. It was slightly bitter, with lemon. His favorite.

“You are very talented, you know,” Gustave said. He’d been teaching Erik to play the violin for the past hour. Erik had never attempted to play before but found it very enjoyable. He quickly learned the pieces Gustave placed in front of him, and soon began to improvise, modulating the keys, and weaving in his own melodies. “You did not play as written, though,” he continued, smiling to himself.

“Well, in my opinion, Paganini needed to make some adjustments to his concertos.” Erik quipped. Though very shy initially, Erik found himself opening up to the aging violinist as they discussed various composers and pieces. To his delight, Erik discovered Gustave was very well-educated on the topic of music.

A few moments passed in comfortable silence, until Gustave opened his mouth to speak. “Erik. You have something I have never seen before. Truly. You play violin better after an hour of training than some of the most renowned concertmasters do after a lifetime.” Erik watched as he stood and made his way to a locked cabinet. “Therefore, I would like to give you something.”

The musician produced a key and unlocked the door. Erik leaned closer to inspect what he was doing, and saw Gustave gently pull out a violin.

“It is one of my own.” He ran his calloused hands over the surface. “Dear boy, you have talent that rivals the best musical minds of the century. This instrument has found a worthy companion.”

Erik had no words. He had never received anything from anyone, except for the very mask that concealed his shocked expression. He could not accept this gift, despite how much he wanted to.

“But sir-”

“But nothing.” The words echoed his mother’s. “This violin belongs to you now. There is not anyone else I would rather give it to.” Gustave gingerly placed the violin in Erik’s hands and sat down next to him.  
Erik inspected the violin and took note of every carving and string fiber. The violin was crafted out of ebony, with intricate rosewood detailing carved in. Swirling music notes wrapped themselves around the body of the instrument, finding their end at the center of a carved rose at the back of the violin. It was breathtaking.

“Thank you,” Erik breathed. Gustave nodded.

Quietly, Erik began to play. He played the songs Gustave had taught him and slowly began to play his own melodies, beautiful yet haunting. When he had been doing this for several minutes, he heard Gustave’s quiet voice beside him and realized the older musician was falling asleep.

“You really are an amazing boy, Erik...I only hope that my Christine can someday find someone like you.”

“Christine?”

“My daughter. She’s asleep, of course. She’s had a long night. It was she who did the solos for the choir; she’s been nervous about it since November.”

Erik’s heart leapt. The beautiful soloist with the angelic voice, in the same house as him? Gustave’s daughter? 

“She was amazing,” Erik said softly.

Erik’s melodies transformed into softer tones, long sweeping chords that would melt even the most hardened of souls.

Gustave nodded sleepily. “I’m falling asleep, young man. You stay here as long as you want. Perhaps you can meet my Christine tomorrow. Merry Christmas, Erik.”

Erik smiled to himself, his mind in a haze. This man had shown him more kindness than he had ever received his entire life. Of course a man such as him would have a daughter like Christine. No, Christine! He broke away from his music-induced trance. He would never burden an angel such as her with the threatening image of his mask. No, it would simply not do. 

Erik’s thoughts rushed wildly as he quietly set the violin in its case. He needed to thank this man somehow. Perhaps a note? Yes, a note, he concluded. Though his heart longed to stay and meet the angel Christine, he knew it was best if he left. Erik scrambled to find a paper and pen. Once he had collected his materials, he allowed his innermost thoughts to spill out onto the page. Gustave Daaé treated him as his own son. He would not forget that.

He concluded after a few moments and placed the note on the coffee table beside the sleeping man. Erik looked around the modest home and basked a few minutes longer in the feel of warmth and love. This was it. He felt a flickering of it in the church, but it was nothing compared to what he sensed now. He felt the love Gustave had for Christine, for music. He longed to reach out and never let it go. He looked down at the violin in its case. Could it be? Could Gustave love one such as him? Erik shook his head. No. The love in this home was not for him. Madeleine was right. This home was his Garden of Eden, and Erik suspected it was the closest thing to heaven he would ever experience. Love was his apple. He laughed ruefully. How ironic for his death’s head to be compared to the beauty of Eve.

Erik sighed and stepped towards the front door of the Daaé home. He did not know where his feet would carry him, but he hoped that one day he would be able to return and see her.  
Christine Daaé.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! We will try to update regularly, but alas, life gets in the way. So, here is some backstory! How did you like teenage Erik? He is about 13 years old here. (For reference the premise of the story takes place in 1921). We will be periodically flashing back, so there will be more :) Thank you for your comments and kudos! We appreciate everyone who did last time. Sending you hugs! Now to my cocreator and partner in crime:  
> -HourOfMazenderan
> 
> Hi everyone! This chapter’s a little long, but we had a lot of fun writing it, and there’s so much of the story to tell. You haven’t seen the last of Erik and the Daaés yet… But we hope you enjoy! Feel free to leave comments and kudos! 
> 
> -emeraldroses


	3. Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nadir's past begins to resurface.

The world was spinning and the bright lights were giving him a splitting headache. Why did he decide to walk? Nadir stumbled as everything blurred in and out of focus. How potent was the champagne Raoul was serving? A million questions and thoughts buzzed through his head making him unable to think. Where was that blasted building? The Ansonia. All the skyscrapers appeared the same to him. Nadir stopped abruptly and put his head in his hands. What was his number? 120? 121? He rubbed his temples and continued to move forward. Nadir was not in the mood to be mugged.

Somehow, he remembered that the building was a hotel of sorts. Perhaps it would be one of the more upscale-looking buildings. That at least narrowed it down a little, and Nadir was pretty sure he was on the right block. He squinted and shifted his gaze upwards. Looming before him was a lavish building with intricate stonework. He vaguely remembered his cousin had mentioned that it was a notable aspect of the Ansonia. There were gothic arches outlining many windows, and at the very top at the building there was a large circular stained glass window that opened to a balcony. Perhaps a lookout of some sort? Making his way closer to the building, Nadir noticed the tinted glass double doors which concealed the lobby. “How strange…” he mumbled. Suddenly, he heard a gruff voice bark out from behind him.

“Hold it right there.”

Nadir hadn’t noticed the guards posted on either side of the doorway, and stepped back in surprise. Guards for a simple hotel? They were dressed in black and blended well in the surrounding darkness.

“I’m sorry?”

“Are you expected?” asked the second guard, adjusting his hold on what Nadir now saw to be a gun.

“Expected? I have an apartment that I’m trying to enter…” Nadir trailed off at the guards’ expressions. “This isn’t the Ansonia, is it?”

The men seemed to relax at this. “Next building over,” the first one said. Nadir nodded and turned from the other building. Strangely enough, every room seemed to be deserted, save for one at the very top. He could see the silhouette of a man on the balcony, surveying the city. Maybe Nadir was imagining things, but to him it looked as though he was watching the very area where Nadir had just walked from. He shook his head and silently promised himself to keep track of his drinks next time he visited his old friend.

With all the strength he could muster, Nadir walked another block and into the lobby of the Ansonia. For a moment he forgot his exhaustion as he took in his surroundings. At first glance, the lobby was ordinary. However, it opened up into an exquisite area full of carved white balconies and golden light. The green marble covered floors complimented the arched mirrors that reflected the bright lights. Nadir caught a glimpse of himself in one of the mirrors, and laughed. Who was this old man staring back at him? He looked haggard. Rubbing his eyes, he fingered the keys to the flat in his pocket.

Nadir located his room and stepped in. His cousin’s apartment was a far cry from the elegant interiors of the lobby. Sparsely decorated with a muted color scheme, it more than lived up to the description of “simple” he had been given. This late at night, however, Nadir would have been happy with the accommodations he’d had back in the war. Barely giving the room a second glance he dropped his bag and flopped onto the bed. Nadir did not even bother to change his clothes; as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was fast asleep. 

Nadir groaned. The morning light streaming through his windows woke him from his dreamless sleep. Nadir looked at the nightstand and saw there was no alarm clock to be found. How perfect. He always woke up at exactly five A.M., but judging from the amount of sunlight streaming through his windows, he doubted that was the case this morning. How annoying that he had been in the most violent and harrowing situations only to be bested by a few glasses of champagne. Ridiculous. Throwing away the covers, he stood and unpacked his suitcase. Before enlisting, Nadir wanted to work on Wall Street. He found it fascinating how ordinary men could work their way up to riches. That dream felt too far to grasp now. Regardless, Nadir could not resist the urge to walk around the city imagining what his life might have been.

The apartment wasn’t any more attractive in the morning light. Nadir looked around the room. He had an extremely small kitchen at his disposal and an even smaller living room with a coffee table. Nadir did not want to spend anymore time in his stuffy surroundings, so he straightened his tie and made his way to the lobby. He approached the front desk, where a petite woman with mousy features sat. 

“Do you know of any suitable places for dining, ma’am? I checked in here last night.”

The woman looked up and adjusted the glasses that were too big for her face.  
“Oh- uh, last night, you say? You wouldn’t happen to be a Mr. Khan, would you?” She looked expectantly at him.

“Yes, I am him.” Nadir furrowed his brow.

“Someone left this for you.” The woman pulled out an envelope sealed with wax. His name was addressed with red scrawly cursive handwriting. 

Nadir accepted the envelope and took a few steps back to open it. Upon closer inspection, the seal was in the shape of a rose. His curiosity was piqued. Nadir quickly unfolded the letter.

_Mr. Khan,  
I could not help but notice that you were inspecting my building last night. A magnificent piece of artwork, no? You seem like a man with good taste; therefore, I would like to invite you to afternoon tea at 2:00pm sharp. Tell the guards you are expected; I have notified them to send you up once you arrive. I eagerly await your arrival, Mr. Khan, and I advise you to be on time. I am a busy man._

_O.G._

Nadir was perturbed. The note was short and extremely enigmatic. O.G.? What could that stand for? 

Nadir did not know if he should go. On one hand, he was very intrigued by this strange message; on the other, the author seemed a bit threatening. This was a large city. Who could he trust? This O.G. did not even seem to give him an option. It was more of a demand for his presence than a request.

But the mention of last night. Was this the man on the balcony, the one who Nadir thought his brain might have conjured in its post-dinner party haze? If so, he thought, he must attend, despite his reservations about the truthfulness of the author. Nadir glanced at the clock, and saw it read 12:30. He must have been more exhausted than he thought. 

Less than two hours until he was due for tea. Nadir went over the path he’d taken to get to the hotel the previous night and recalled a corner store only a few blocks away. Perfect. He hadn’t had time to get groceries the previous day- he’d gone directly to the DeChagnys’. Trusting his memory, Nadir set out down the street. 

This part of the city was as alive during the day as it was at night. It was time for the lunch break at many companies, and businessmen flooded the streets alongside the homeless begging for change. Music from street performers rang out from corners as Nadir passed people of all ages and nationalities. Finally, he arrived at the store he remembered from last night. 

The store was called Hannibal’s. It was rather small, but had everything Nadir needed. He got enough food to cover the basics, no more. Perhaps it was his training; perhaps it was simply the feeling of apprehension about the upcoming tea. Whatever the reason, Nadir was otherwise occupied when he finally left the store, and didn’t notice when he ran directly into a petite blonde girl right outside.

“Oh! Excuse me!” exclaimed Nadir. 

“That’s all right,” said the girl with a laugh, turning around. Nadir’s first thought was that she must be no more than twelve. She seemed very delicate. With her pale skin, bright blue eyes, hair pulled into a bun, and ballet shoes clutched in her hands, she could have been one of the ballerina dolls in a toy shop window. Perhaps she was a chorus girl? She at once struck Nadir as very friendly and confident, yet humble in a way he had not yet seen in a person here in America. Eventually he realized that she was not a child, but probably around Raoul’s wife’s age. “First time at the store?”

Nadir was taken aback. “How did you know?”

The girl smiled. “I come here every day during my break, so I know all the regulars. My mom is in charge of the dancers over at the theater- I run all the errands for her and the managers. Meg do this and Meg do that!” They both laughed, and Meg continued, “Today she had to drop off the list finalizing the roster for the ballet chorus over by the Ansonia. Guards outside the building of the owner’s house, can you imagine? They wouldn’t even let me in!” She laughed again, her voice ringing out like wind chimes.

“But that’s where I’m going!” Nadir exclaimed. “At least I think it is...the note wasn’t clear...I don't even know the man.” Even as he said it he sounded ridiculous.

“Be wary, then,” the ballerina replied. “The manager of the opera house is a ghost. Some say he’s a murderer, armed with a lasso, who kills without thought. Others say an army hero, or a spy. I know a girl who swore he was actually a living dead man and another who said he was a cousin to the Devil. No one has ever seen him, except my mother and the acting managers, and even then they say he wears a mask.”

Nadir looked for a hint of humor on her face, but could find none. Meg was chatty, sure, but she didn’t seem to be the type of girl to lie; though Nadir had known her only a few minutes, she seemed trustworthy enough. 

Praying his nervousness didn’t show, Nadir forced a laugh and said, “I will have to tell you all about it, then!” 

Meg grinned. “I look forward to it, Mister…” 

“Khan.”

“Good luck, Mr. Khan!” And with that, she skipped away in the direction of the theater. Nadir turned headed down the street to his flat, a million thoughts about this opera manager living next door flooding his head.

A living dead man...a murderer…

What had he agreed to?

Nadir stared at himself in the mirror of his hotel bathroom. He had spent the last few hours pacing in his hotel room, apprehensive for the meeting with this mysterious man. He decided it would be unwise to arrive empty-handed, so he came prepared with a vintage bottle of Merlot. Nadir straightened his tie and made sure he looked presentable. It was time.

Nadir approached the looming building. “So, we meet again,” laughed one of the guards. “The boss is expecting you.” Nadir nodded and entered what appeared to be a lobby. Strangely enough, he was reminded of Raoul’s home- the lobby was breathtaking. However, it differed slightly. For one, this room was elegant without being overdone. And for another, everything from the floor to the receptionist’s desk was made of black marble. 

“I’m here to see an O.G.?” questioned Nadir. The receptionist, whose name tag said _Marguerite_ , gave him a practiced smile. 

“Yes, he is expecting you on floor thirteen.”

Nadir chuckled. Well, this man certainly did not fear superstition. Or perhaps he welcomed it. Unsurprising, if he were truly the Devil’s man. Nadir stepped into the elevator, (as much as he adored the black marbled staircases, his legs would thank him) and pressed the hand-painted button labeled _13_. His pocket-watch read one fifty-seven; he’d complied with the instructions to be prompt. As the elevator ascended, Nadir noted that there seemed to be music playing. Classical notes swirled around him; yet, what was the source? Before he could ponder any longer, a high pitched _ding_ announced his arrival.

Anxiously, Nadir clutched his bottle of Merlot tighter. The golden doors of the elevator slid open to reveal what seemed to be a parlor. The room was decorated with black leather sofas surrounding a table made of tempered glass. On the table sat two teacups and a pot of tea. The floor was made of polished hardwood, covered in black carpeting. There were drapes covering the floor to ceiling windows, and the electric lights had been dimmed. Nadir scanned the room until his eyes fell upon what he had previously thought was a shadow.

At the center of the room, a thin, well-dressed gentleman with his back to Nadir held court, and it was he who broke the silence.

“Mr. Khan. So glad you could make it. You are very nearly late.” In fact, Nadir was two minutes early, but he decided to say nothing, instead placing the Merlot on the table.

“I brought-“ Nadir started. The man, O.G., chuckled to himself.

“Yes, that will do.” Suddenly the man turned around with a wolfish grin. “Squire is an idiot.”

At first, Nadir did not notice anything peculiar about the man’s appearance. However, upon closer inspection he was fascinated to discover a white porcelain mask concealing all of his facial features. He decided it was best he did not call attention to it.

“Ah, Squire, he was a Signal Officer for the War, no?”

“Yes. He is now attempting to transmit radio signals over electrical wires. Music, for the elevator. Fool. I achieved electrical transmission before I could drink. Though I suppose no one is allowed to drink now.” He smirked. “Please sit, Mr. Khan.”

Nadir was intrigued by this mysterious figure before him. He did not know his name, trade, or even what he looked like, yet there was something very compelling about him. His air was that of a man with elegance and grace. His posture was rigid and movements calculated. There was one thing however, which ensnared Nadir’s focus and held his rapt attention: the man’s _voice_. His voice was simply mesmerizing. It was too familiar. Everything from the man’s articulation to his voice’s timbre sounded otherworldly. The perfect balance of honey and gravel. Like _him_. There was only one man Nadir knew, or had ever known, who possessed this gift.

“You may be wondering why I have summoned you.” the man said, deftly picking up a porcelain tea cup. “I also assume you have many questions. They will be answered. Some perhaps in time, but others I will oblige you with responses today.” Nadir processed his information. 

“What is your name?”

“Ah. A very good question. I am known by many names, but I believe Erik will suit our interactions best. I am Erik Destler.” Nadir poured himself a cup of tea from the pot and sipped. His face twisted in disgust. It was bitter.

A smile of amusement played at the corner of Erik’s lips. “Russian tea with lemon,” he stated. “Mr. Khan,” he began, “I have asked you to meet with me today because you have caught my interest. I am a man of great power and influence within this city, and it is not very often that I am intrigued by other individuals.” He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “As you can see,” he gestured to his mask, “I am a very private person. However, I make it my business to know everything that occurs within my city. My domain.'' 

Erik looked as though he was challenging Nadir to question his “domain”. It was at this moment Nadir noticed his striking amber eyes. They narrowed. “ I am aware you are new to this area, no?” 

First Meg, now Erik. Nadir wondered if he should wear a sign proclaiming that he was unfamiliar with the area and be done with it. 

“Yes. You are correct,” he sighed.

“Then you are also aware that to survive in a climate such as this, you need a job, correct?”

Nadir rubbed his temples. He was, after all, a scholar and a war veteran and not used to being addressed as one would an incompetent schoolboy. This man was treating him as if he was an imbecile. “Yes Mr. Destler, I am aware.”

“Good,” he purred. “Then you will find it in your best interests to accept a job from me.” It was not a request. It was a command, and it was the final straw for Nadir.

Suddenly his mind was a million miles away. He clutched his armrests. Not now, not now, not _now_. He willed the flashbacks away, but found himself powerless against them.

_“You cannot enjoy killing.” It was Nadir’s voice, the words from long ago._

_“But it is what I do, my dear Persian friend. And what you do, unless you are a great booby and a poor soldier to boot,” an oddly familiar voice replied. As the other man spoke, Nadir became aware of a shadowy figure sitting next to him._

_“Not that way,” said Nadir indignantly, a thousand terrible tortures running through his head._

_“I suppose it is simply how Erik amuses himself!” And the man threw his head back and laughed, and Nadir saw his face, so horrible that it alone was torture enough before this man could even begin his favorite sport…_

Nadir came back to himself with a start, the bone-chilling laughter still ringing in his ears. The memory he had suppressed resurfaced. Vividly. As he sat in the elegant parlor, across from the masked man who so resembled a shadow, Nadir was sure of three things.

One, his new neighbor was the same Erik who had sought him out, years ago, as a- friend? A confidant? At any rate, another man with roots in Persia.

Two, Erik was dangerous. Nadir had seen him kill, sadistically.

Three, Erik had taken an interest in him, Nadir, just as he had during the war. Only this time, Nadir did not know why.

He glanced up at the foreboding figure. Erik grinned.

“Ah. Good to have you back, my Persian friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry for the delay, but I hope it was worth it. What is Erik up to? Hmm you never know with that enigmatic man. This chapter was super fun to write. We thank you guys for the comments and kudos. Seriously. So sweet. And we hope you keep reading. Thanks!!  
> -HoursOfMazenderan
> 
> Wow, sorry for the hiatus, guys! I guess time slipped away from us a little...But I think you’ll like this chapter. It was definitely one of our favorites to write, and now you guys have seen a little of Erik both in the past and present. Thank you guys so much for comments (even if someone always beats me to the replies) and kudos, it makes my whole day. I hope you enjoy!  
> -emeraldroses


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